Marge Simon
art by Tom Weighill
 

The Return

It's the ones who look like us
that bother me, why I
waited until earthside
for sex most of the time.
But then it took its toll.
I gave them my pension
in exchange for a dead end trip
to neverland with an offworld bride.

Tall and delicately boned
with amber eyes and skin like mine,
so I chose her for my last trip out.
But each night with her
becomes a passionless charade.
I find neither joy nor love
in the cold nest between her thighs.

I watch her move
about the cabin to pause
at the portal view,
a cut-out blackbird
against the sidereal night.

She knows it's only a replica,
that this ship is our Bastille.
I sense she hears
tomorrow's music
sad and muted,
and the tomorrow after that,
a cobalt refrain.

Tomorrow I resolve
to return her to her kind.
It was a mistake to subjugate
another being to my whim, and too late
for me to change my own course,
diving starward,
redefining home.

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